Seventy Two Hours
by MidLifeCrisis
Summary: Companion piece to A Force of Nature, by Rhiannon UK. Fills in the missing four days.


SEVENTY TWO HOURS

By D. Davis (aka MidLifeCrisis) and Rhiannon UK

_What happened between the time Logan had the seizure and then woke up alive a well? My Muse went into overdrive and what I thought would be a weekend project turned into three weeks. With Rhiannon UK's permission and collaboration, I'm filling in the blanks. To understand where this offering originated, please read A Force of Nature by Rhiannon UK. I promise, you'll be absolutely dazzled by her talent._

"Fuck, he's having a seizure! Fetch Moira. Kurt, for god's sake, 'port her in here. Now!"

Bamf! Kurt was gone in an instant.

Riveted in place, Scott stared in horror as Logan convulsed. Blood and body fluids seemed to erupt from every possible orifice filling the room with a nauseating stench. For a second Scott felt his own gullet twist.

Logan's breath, between grunts, rattled and gurgled in his throat. His eyes, unearthly black orbs, wide open, unseeing, darted in opposing directions. Scott was reminded of a dog he'd seen, many years ago, in the final throes of rabies.

What to do? He knew but was helpless as razor sharp claws provided potent incentive for maintaining distance. Scott silently prayed Logan wouldn't impale himself.

Bamf! Kurt was back. He and Moira stumbled as she reoriented herself from teleportation; an unsettling experience even for someone accustomed to it. Immediately assessing the situation, she cried out in frustration. Until he sheathed the claws nothing could be done.

Moments later his bizarre motions abated only to be replaced with another disastrous complication: flat on his back, with a guttural hack, he vomited a fountain of blackish crimson. Instinctively Moira made a move toward him and then froze remembering the claws. "We've got tae get him on his side or he'll choke tae death!"

Scott moved toward him; but Kurt stopped him. "Vait, I can do zis." He bamfed the few feet between them, turned him then bamfed back. It happened more rapidly than normal eyes could register.

Suddenly, he stilled and the claws retracted. Instantaneously, all three were at his side. Blue in complexion, chest retracting, grunting and wheezing, he was a man on the brink of suffocation. Valiantly but unsuccessfully, Moira attempted to clear his airway and perform rescue breathing. "Ach! Too late, he's already aspirated." Unable to utter a sound, Logan stared at them with trenchant panic before his eyes rolled back. "Get him tae the med lab now" Moira commanded _and pray that he doesnae seize again before we get there_ she thought.

Kurt and Scott, on either side, hefted Logan by the arms. The squish of the blood-soaked carpet turned both their stomachs but Logan's bluish pallor quickly put their discomfort into perspective.

She threw open the door only to be momentarily startled by Charles, who'd sensed the crisis, and Jessica who'd followed behind.

"Oh my god!" Jessica gasped taking in the full measure of her prostrate lover.

Scott and Kurt struggled past, straight for the elevator, dragging Logan's dead weight between them, leaving a path of blood in their wake. Moira followed close behind taking care not to slip on the mess.

"Charles, tell Cecilia tae prep suctioning and respiratory support stat," she ordered, confident he could send a telepathic message faster than they could get below ground.

The glimpse Jessica got of Logan's room before Charles closed the door erased any doubt as to the gravity of the crisis; carpet, wood floors, walls and furniture fouled by vomit, blood and excrement. The claw-split door was the least of the disaster. Charles experienced a brief moment of uncertainty until he caught the full range of Jessica's feelings for Logan. Pulling the door to the decimated suite closed, he offered, "Follow me," and led her toward another elevator to the med-lab.

All hell broke loose in the med-lab. First order of business was securing Logan. If he seized or regained consciousness no one wanted to be in range of six lethal blades. Equally urgent was establishing a patent airway. As Scott and Kurt restrained him, Cecelia and Moira went to work suctioning his throat all the while debating between themselves optimal respiratory support. Cricothyrotomy, making an incision in his neck to provide oxygen through a tube, seemed the most efficacious particularly in light of obvious gastro-intestinal bleeding. Because his healing factor was practically nil they weren't worried about rejection. Working in tandem they had him taking oxygen in less than two minutes. His color improved but the pulse oximeter indicated he wasn't being oxygenated enough.

Cecelia listened to his chest with her stethoscope. "No breath sounds in the lower left quadrant. Dammit! Listen to this Moira."

Moira pressed her stethoscope to his bare chest. "Aach! Dinnae even need a chest x-ray tae know what's going on. Thoracostomy?"

Cecelia sighed deeply and nodded. "Gentlemen—er and lady," she gestured to Scott, Kurt and Charles and Jessica who'd just emerged from the elevator, "make yourselves useful. See the scissors on the tray? Someone please cut away his pants." Scott moved to comply with the doctor's request. "I need him cleaned up quickly please," she spoke to the remaining three. It took all of them to maneuver Logan's unnaturally heavy body. Cecelia sympathized with their obvious discomfort. Cleaning up a patient who'd been as violently ill as him wasn't anything like depicted on the current batch of realistic medical dramas on the television. "I'm sorry to put this on you. If we were at a hospital there'd be more than a dozen working various tasks."

The patient; finally cleaned up enough, draped and positioned; the doctors set to the task of inserting a chest tube to drain the gunk that prevented his lungs from inflating properly. The slimy, bloody mess that flowed into the collection receptacle turned Scott's and Kurt's stomachs, more so than what they'd just dealt with. They hastily endeavored to create a distance between themselves and the gore.

They took the elevator to the main level in contemplative silence. Initially headed in the same direction, Kurt branched off to a door leading outside. "Care to join me?" he inquired.

Scott proceeded a few steps past before the question registered in his mind. "Huh? No. Not right now," he replied and slumped against a wall. The look on his face was of fatigue and guilt. "You know Kurt; I don't like the man, don't understand him; rarely agree with anything he says or does. . . . I even said he should be put away! But God help me. ..nobody should suffer like that."

"Don't chastise yourself for a human reaction. Der Wolverine is ungangssprachlich!"

Scott glanced up at his colleague, not comprehending.

"Cantankerous," he translated.

"That's the understatement of the decade," Scott quipped.

"Cantankerous at best; dangerous at vorst; but he's in good hands now, ja?"

"Think I was wrong for putting him down with the tranq?"

"Nicht. Ve had but few choices."

"Maybe," Scott reluctantly concurred. "Though I'm always gonna wonder if I put him into that convulsion."

Kurt shook his head, having no encouraging reply. Scott trudged down the corridor to his office and slammed the door. Kurt waited until he was out of sight before exiting the mansion for the nearby chapel.

Meanwhile, in the med lab, both doctors dared a sigh of relief. Logan seemed stabilized for the moment; the chest tube alleviating oxygen deprivation. His pallor went from dusky blue to gray-white with noticeable improvement in the whooshes and gurgles emanating from the respirator.

Again came the usual monitoring devises: EKG and blood pressure. Neither woman needed any laboratory confirmation to know his kidneys and liver were in serious jeopardy. Systemic edema or swelling and progression of jaundice flagged caution in just how much intravenous fluid could safely be administered. Too much, he'd 'drown'; too little and he'd not have the reserves to rebuild blood volume or maintain proper electrolyte balance. Cecelia pulled some vacuum vials from a nearby tray to draw blood then dashed off to place them in the processor.

Of course the roller coaster wasn't any where near its apogee. Before controlling measures could be put in place and Cecelia returned from the laboratory, Logan suffered another seizure and regurgitated bright red blood.

"Saints preserve us!" Moira gasped then shouted, "Cecelia, I need yeh stat! Charles, if yeh remember anything from yer long ago medical school training, I need yeh."

Charles moved quickly to the table side as Doctor McTaggart instructed him to tilt Logan's head back while she suctioned yet again. Doctor Reyes returned, relieving Charles. Grabbing nasogastric tubing she commenced insertion.

Jessica gripped the back rail of Charles wheel chair to steady herself. He reached over his shoulder giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a gesture that he feared in the back of his mind might be misleading.

Cecelia declared "We need to control these seizures and we're gonna have to locate this bleeder."

"You want tae 'scope him?" Moira inquired.

"Not really; but I fear we've lost the choice. If we don't locate and stop it. . ."she left the implied consequence unspoken. ". . . if we're not too late already." Her eyes focused on the obvious gross swelling of his abdomen; a not- so- subtle indicator of significant intra-abdominal fluid retention and hemorrhage.

"Aye," Moira was forced to concur. Setting to the task of inserting an intravenous line for anti-convulsants, she continued consulting with her colleague."Let's wait 'til the labs comeback. There's a wee chance it's coming from a source a scoping won't reveal and we'll have a handle on the underlying cause of his seizures." Then recalling Charles who'd remained close, she spoke with gratitude, "Thank yeh old friend. There's nae much more tae be done for the short range; just waiting on the labs tae tell us what tae do next."

"Indeed. If you feel you have no more need of my assistance, I think we'll return…" he glanced at Jessica, "…to my office. I've an interview to conclude and rather unsanitary conditions requiring attention. Keep me informed, doctors." His command was acknowledged with affirmative nods.

Charles wheeled over and gently touched the arm of Logan's lovely consort. He was impressed with her outward calm and fortitude over the last half hour or so though he was acutely attuned to her underlying enervation. "Shall we?" he suggested gently.

"Just a minute professor." Gracefully she moved to Logan's side, bent close to his head and stroked his stubbly cheek. "Hey tough guy! I don't know if you can hear," she murmured, "but . . . enough already! You promised to take me out last week, remember? I know I said you better not ever stand me up unless you're on your deathbed. . . but this is going to the extreme don't you think? Please Logan, hang on." She pressed a kiss on his forehead, turned away with tears glistening on thick lashes and exited with Charles.

Moira and Cecelia proceeded tending to the patient. "I'm about tae make the lad extremely snarky with me," Moira said with undisguised discomfit while she ripped open a package of sterile tubing.

Continuing to clean him up, Cecelia gave a tight lipped, understanding smile. "He _did_ say no Foley catheter didn't he? I wouldn't beat myself over it Moira, he's snarky with the entire planet. What's one more thing?"

"Aye," she agreed while performing the insertion. "Cannae be any worse than what I was forced tae do tae him. And I put Scott in such a terrible spot."

"You did what you had to do. I doubt we'd have a patient if you hadn't acted."

"Aye, I'd rather do this than prepping a body for a funeral. Och, look at this will ye!" Moira exclaimed noting blackish, clotted blood flowing through the catheter into the containment bag.

"Oh God! I knew it even without the BUN and creatinine results. Total kidney failure!"

"Shall I prepare for dialysis?"

"Without delay," Cecelia said with a weary sigh. "I'll check the labs; see if we've got any numbers yet."

"Do yeh have a preference for where yeh want the stoma?"

"Find a spot that's least invasive but gives us the option for rapid dialysis if we need it."

"That'll cost yeh in the miracle backlog."

"Battin' a hundred already; what's a little more?" Cecelia commented as she made her way to the nearby laboratory.

When Cecelia returned from the laboratory, she looked pale; which is a feat for a dark-skinned woman. Moira took note. "What ails yeh, lass?"

Cecelia handed over a slip of paper. "Our lad's in a very bad way," her voice cracked. "I've never seen anything like this before. This isn't compatible with life."

"Aye!. Well let's pray the lad's got a guardian angel. It'd be wise to delay the upper and lower GI endoscopy until he's more stable."

"Absolutely. His heart won't stand the strain from the procedures. Honestly, I've no idea why he's not in cardiac arrest right now."

"Cecelia Reyes, cross yersel' right now. Yer bringin' on the evil sprites wi' yeh words."

"Sprites, Murphy, whatever. We've got our work cut out for us. How do you propose we try to balance these numbers?"

"Basic algebra madam; F-O-I-L."

"Right, let's combat the potassium, glucose and insulin imbalances. If we're lucky they'll act to re-balance the others."

"Cecelia, are yeh a religious woman?"

"Superficially. Why?"

"Because I'll admit this is a shot in the dark and in this instance, even taking intae account the lad's bullish constitution, we're gonnae need all the help we can get."

"Do you really believe that, Moira?"

"Aye. I've seen a bit o' faith and prayer do things that nothing else can. Faith and modern medicine are a powerful combination."

"You mean modern medicine and faith?"

"However yeh choose tae view it. Better apprise Charles."

oooOOOooo

Through with classes for the afternoon, Marie, Jubilee and Bobby set off the raid Maggie's kitchen.

Fiercely territorial, Xavier's head cook rarely tolerated incursions but she knew volumes about hungry teenagers and kept a special cupboard for just such emergencies.

Reaching onto an upper shelf, Bobby handed down a carton of Pop Tarts while Jubilee rummaged through the refrigerator. "Bummer; all we've got is milk and juice," the petite Asian girl complained.

"Ya think it's too much to ask for soda?"

"Got some chocolate syrup up here, Jubes," Bobby informed. "How 'bout chocolate milk?"

"Any ice cream in the freezer?" Marie queried.

"There is chica. Lots. Name yer passion."

Marie skipped over to the freezer and pulled out a gallon of vanilla and relieved Jubilee of the jug of milk.

"Whatcha doin'?" Jubilee asked.

"Feel like a milkshake," she said with certainty and then added, "Bet Logan might like one, too."

"Are you crazy?" Bobby piped up. "After everything that went down in the med-lab the other day?"

"Aww come on Bobby! He was really sick. He didn't mean anything," she defended, always willing to give Logan the benefit of the doubt.

"Right," the boy replied sarcastically. "That's not what ya said then when ya were freakin' out and Mr. Summers had to chill ya out."

Marie harrumphed as she scooped great chunks of ice cream into a blender. "Well Ah hear he's in the old wing tryin' ta git better."

"Put some chocolate and caramel in," Jubilee suggested and made a move to pour it into the blender.

Marie hovered over the pitcher. "After Ah mix up this. Logan don't like things too sweet."

"Whatever," Jubilee snipped as Bobby mimicked in a syrupy voice, "Logan don't like things too sweet; blah, blah, blah."

"What's yer problem Bobby?" Marie sniped.

"No problems at all," he replied stuffing a Pop Tart in his mouth. "Chus don getch why. . ."

"Ain't polite to talk with ya mouth full," Jubilee scolded.

He opened his mouth wide exposing partially masticated pastry then chugged some milk.

"Ewww, gross!" Marie and Jubilee shouted in unison.

Bobby gulped before continuing to speak. "…all the girls seem ta think Logan's such hot shit?"

Jubilee took the ice cream from Marie and hopped up onto the counter top. Spooning from carton she endeavored to explain the facts to Bobby. "Cuz he_ is_ hot, ya big dork! He's like tall and dark and beyond scrump-able."

"He's old enough to be your Dad," Bobby rebuked.

"Actually, yer grandpa," Marie corrected.

"Whatever." Jubilee waved a spoon dismissively.

Maggie walked in at that moment carrying an armload of groceries. "I'll thank you to remove your posterior from my kitchen counter Miss Jubilation Lee. Master Robert Drake, where are your manners?"

Bobby immediately took the bags from her. "Sorry."

"There's a few more in the car, young man. Fetch 'em, please. And what have we here, Miss Marie Spencer?"

Marie smiled, "Milkshakes. Thought Ah might take one to Logan. Got plenty, want some?"

"That's sweet. I'm sure it'll brighten him up."

"Hopefully more than Jell-O bunnies."

Maggie squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure it will." More sternly, though with a twinkle in her eyes, she commanded, "I expect you'll be tidying up before you venture on your errand of mercy."

A feminine duo of "Yes ma'am," rang out as the girls quickly put things away.

Bobby rejoined and the trio commenced to Logan's suite loaded down with a tray of frosty milkshakes, M&M's and beer nuts. The beer nuts, much to Marie's surprise, were Bobby's suggestion.

"Don't wanna put Mr. Scrump-able," he glared at Jubilee, "into a diabetic coma." The girl cocked her head and sneered.

"You're all heart Bobby," Marie giggled.

A skittish Rahne met up with the group at the hallway juncture. 'What are yeh doin'?" she asked timidly.

"Takin' this to Logan," Jubilee answered.

"Aye. Can I tag along?"

Marie glared at the girl. "Ah don't think that's a good idea, Wolf-girl. You're the reason we gotta take this to 'im."

As if slapped, Rahne shrunk back. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

The trio moved on though Rahne followed at a distance, determined to find another chance to talk to Logan. Guilt gnawed at her conscience and a fierce compulsion to explain everything to him overrode any fear.

"Geeze Marie, kinda tough on her don't ya think?" Bobby asked quietly.

"No Ah don't," she answered sharply.

He looked to Jubilee for support. "Sorry dude, gotta stick with Roguey on this' un. That Rahne chick is totally out-there; space-cadet, wolf-bitch."

"Ouch!" Bobby winced, deciding to drop the subject.

Approaching the suite, still several paces behind, Rahne detected the scent of blood; lots of it. She knew it was Logan's. She'd never be able to erase its scent from her memory after what she'd done to him. A few steps closer and something else sent her instincts into over-drive; lingering pheromones; the kind that a cornered animal would emit in a kill-or-be-killed struggle. Feeling the blood burn in her veins, fighting an all consuming urge to morph, she ducked into a corner. One step closer and she knew she'd not be able to control the beast within.

Maggie meanwhile, busily restocking pantries, froze in mid-reach with a box of macaroni. A sudden sense of fear and cataclysm assaulted her mind. Trying to get a sense of her dread's source, she only became confused. It was everywhere. Strongest at that moment was a curious puzzlement coming from three teenagers. Just as strong was something else; primitive, canine-like, vacillating wildly with complex human pathos. An impression of guilt and strong misgivings seemed to flow from the direction of Scott Summers' office. A multi-layered fog of sentiments emanated from Charles conference room; fear and anguish being most prominent. Someone projected a fierce, yet controlled aura of animalistic protectiveness and finally fading traces of adrenalin, as if someone had been tasked to perform an extraordinary feat. More distant was a sense of extreme frustration and carefully held in-check panic. Something was severely amiss. _Logan! Something's happened,_ she thought. She dashed from the kitchen, calling for the cheering committee bound for his suite.

Too late! She heard the crash of the metal tray and glassware accompanied by bloodcurdling shrieks. She raced up behind them only to have her senses assaulted by a scene right out of a Freddy Kruger movie. Beyond the uniquely punctured and splintered door, blackened, blood-soaked carpet, rust colored spatters, tangled and fouled bedding wadded on the floor at bedside and the repulsive stench of body fluids overpowered them. In plain sight, next to the ruined carpet, lay a vicious looking projectile; some sort of dart. Lingering were passions only Maggie could feel; rage, terror and defeat.

Bobby paled, turned away and gagged; barely keeping down his earlier snack. Marie and Jubilee, frozen in place, could only stare wide-eyed, their hands covering their mouths and noses against the funk wafting from the room.

Not far away in a richly paneled conference room, Charles's picked up the telephone receiver. "Excuse me," he said with deference to Jessica. "Yes," he replied quietly into the receiver. A mask of worry clouded his normally benign expression. "I see."

Seeing the change in Charles, Jessica's sense of alarm ratcheted up a few notches.

"You've transmitted the data to Hank?. . .Understood. I'll follow up to make sure it was received. Do your best, doctors." Replacing the hand piece in the charger, he turned to Jessica his face reflecting undisguised apprehension.

"He's worse!" she echoed what she read from his expression.

Charles shook his head. "I'm not certain worse is a correct assessment, but he's no…." Suddenly his eyes widened slightly. He froze in mid-sentence as spikes of angst penetrated his subconscious. Quickly composing himself he continued, "I've made a careless oversight."

Jessica responded with a questioning rise of her eyebrows.

Speeding as fast as his wheel chair would move from the room, "Quickly," he demanded, motioning her to follow.

Stunned by such an unexpected ghastly sight, Maggie nearly allowed herself to be carried along with the teens' hysterics. Instead, digging deep, she blasted out a wave of comfort and calm that enveloped the kids like a mother's warm embrace.

Except for Marie. She began to tremble. Her face was twisted in a knot of shock, agony, revulsion and fury. "No!" she croaked. "Logan!" she cried out. Maggie redoubled her effort, trying to bring the girl into her sphere. Oblivious, Marie began to scream. "He's dead! Somebody killed 'im! Oh mah gawd! Logan!" Grief stricken she bolted away.

Rahne emerged from the shadows. "Marie!" she shouted.

Marie froze and glared. "You! You hurt 'im before. He's dead cuz of you!"

"No! He's nae dead."

Marie sneered. "How do ya. . ."

"I dinnae smell death," Rahne cut in and moved closer.

"Stay away from me," Marie warned.

At that moment Charles and Jessica appeared. Quickly assessing the situation he calmly and gently commanded, "Marie, Jubilation, Rahne, Robert; come away. Go to my office, please."

"No!" Marie shouted. "Where's Logan?"

Telepathically Charles sent; _He's being cared for. Please Marie come away from here._

Rapidly loosing control, she spat, "Go ta hell!"

All stared at Marie, dumbfounded.

_Maggie, Jessica, _Charles projected;_ escort the children please; Marie and I'll be along presently._

Seeing her friends controlled in Maggie's thrall, deserting her, Marie shouted, "Ta hell with y'all! Ah'll find him m'self," and she tore for the elevator.

"_Marie. Stop now!" _Charles shouted telepathically and verbally but the girl would not be dissuaded.

His effort was further thwarted as Marie locked access to the elevator as she descended into the med-lab. Uncharacteristically he muttered, "Damn!" and punched in code to unlock it.

Moving almost robotically, the youths made their way down the hall with Maggie physically embracing Jubilee and Bobby around the shoulders as they walked. Rahne walked behind afraid of physical contact while Jessica took up a rear-guard position. Overwhelmed by the smell of malevolence and fear, Rahne eased in a different direction having no desire to sequester herself with apparent foes.

"Rahne?" Jessica called gently as the child tried to flee. "Sweetheart, wait please." Jessica cautiously followed, aware of the child's capability to inflict harm.

She stopped in her tracks, turned and studied her warily. Sensing gentle compassion, Rahne relaxed her guard. "I cannae go wi' them."

"Why not?"

"Cuz they know what I did and they hate me."

"Rahne, what is it you think you did?"

"I made his silver die."

"Oh sweetheart, I don't believe that for a minute and as soon as he's well we're gonna get everything straightened out."

Salty tears pooled in Rahne's eyes and one slid down her cheek. "I dinnae think he's gonnae get better," she said, barely louder than a whisper.

Jessica's heart broke for the little girl and from fear she spoke the truth. Pushing aside caution, she inched closer with outstretched arms. Surrendering, Rahne sobbed into Jessica's bosom.

Charles managed to catch up to Marie but not before she'd seen, yet again, too much. Moira stood with the calmer but pale and weeping young lady observing Logan from behind a glass partition. It was a gruesome sight to see. All the cleansing in the world was not going to alter the fact that he looked a step shy of a cadaver with matted hair, more askew than usual, sickly, pale- gray pallor and ugly purple bruises visible on his arms, chest and abdomen. A hodgepodge of tubes and hoses snaked from his body. Blood seeped from and crusted around most. Fluid retained in his gut caused swelling which made his limbs appear even more wasted than they were. The whoosh, click, hiss of the respirator; the incessant beep of the cardiac monitor; the gurgle of drains and suction devices and whirr of the dialysis equipment easily heard through thick Plexiglas made a discordant racket that did nothing to dispel a sense of doom. Charles hid his own sense of alarm, absorbing just how quickly Logan had deteriorated.

"What's happened ta him, Professor?" Marie gulped, trying to stem weeping.

He replied with gentle honesty, "We're not certain yet."

"Ah wanna go ta 'im."

"Nay lass. It's safest tae keep him isolated," Moira recommended.

"Why?"

"Until we understand what's wrong, it's best we keep germs away," she explained.

"That's stupid. Logan don't need ta worry 'bout _germs._"

"Of course, but that's what's done when anyone is gravely ill."

Suddenly attention was drawn to the other side of the glass as Logan's body trembled followed by an unnerving animalistic whine and culminating moments later as his body violently spasmed against restraints. Doctor Reyes at his side immediately, began adjusting IV flows, respirator settings and a host of other tasks. She looked to Moira, who was just about to step through the door, for assistance.

Panicking, Marie grabbed for her and cried out, "What's happening?" Moira sloughed her off as kindly as possible.

"Marie," Charles spoke forcefully, "you must let Doctor McTaggart do her job. Your behavior isn't helping."

"But he's dyin'! He saved me twice. Ah gotta help 'im," she declared.

"Marie, everything possible is being done; you must believe that."

The voice of reason sunk in. "Ah do, Professor. But there's gotta be somethin' Ah can do."

Charles took Marie's gloved hands into his, "There's plenty you can do. Let me ask you this; how might he react if aware of your actions right now?"

"Dunno."

"He wouldn't want you worrying over him, would he?"

"No."

"I'm not going to tell you _not_ to worry over him Marie, that would be disingenuous, but I promise you there are many skilled people doing everything possible to make him well. Your part in this effort is to let them do their jobs without impediment."

Marie nodded, slowly, reluctantly.

"Now, come with me. I'm counting on you to help explain the situation to the others."

oooOOOooo

The gloom that settled over Xavier's School for the Gifted was thick the next day. Word traveled fast and all day long faculty kept watch and chased away groups of curious students anxious to get a glimpse of the ruined suite even though it had been stripped and cleaned the night before. Charles tasked Maggie's previous skills as a psychologist and they availed themselves to any student or faculty member who needed to them. Jessica stayed on making herself useful to everyone helping with anything asked.

Over a luncheon tray, Jessica and Cecelia sat in a small cubicle that afforded a clear view of the patient. While purposely engaged in small talk, Jessica's cell phone vibrated in her hip pocket. "'Scuze me," she said glancing at caller-ID and lit up with a smile. "Oh, it's my brother!" She clicked on the phone. "Hello there, big bro'."

"Jess, got bad news!"

The smile vanished from Jessica's face. "What is it Phil? Dad? Mom?"

"Dad. . . ."

She groaned.

". . .had a heart attack."

"Oh God. How bad?"

"Pretty serious. The angiogram showed several significant blockages. Soon as he's stable he's going for angioplasty."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Is Mom there?"

There was a rustling sound as the phone changed hands. "Mom? Are you doing ok?"

"Yes dear, of course. Now listen Jessica, don't get yourself into a dither…"

"Hush Mom! I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Can you afford it dear?" Next, Jessica heard her mother say, "Phillip, call the airline. Arrange for a ticket from. . . what's most convenient Jess? Newark or LaGuardia?"

"Mom, don't worry about me. Got it covered."

"No, no. You don't have a car and you haven't mentioned anything lately, but if I'm not wrong you're still working at that nightclub."

Jessica held the phone slightly away from her ear and rolled her eyes. _Nightclub? Oh, if she only knew_, she thought. There would be no dissuading Sylvia Commeau once she set on a path. "Ok Mom, LaGuardia's best. Get me something late this afternoon 'cuz I'm not sure I can get to the airport before then."

"Of course dear. We'll call you with the final arrangements. Your Dad's right here and wants to speak to you."

"Princess."

Hearing her father's normally rich baritone voice reduced to a breathy, weak rasp unnerved her and she had to fight to keep panic from hers. "Hi Dad. What ya won't do to get the family together, huh?"

Claude Commeau chuckled weakly. "You know me. I don't want you to go worrying. I'm gonna be fine."

"Of course you will. Takes more than a dumb ol' heart attack to slow down a Commeau, right?"

"That's the spirit." His phrase was upbeat but the intonation didn't match.

"I'll be there tonight, ok? Daddy, I love you." Jessica clicked off her phone and slumped in her seat.

Staring vacantly she said to Cecelia, "My Dad's. . . "

Cecelia nodded and finished Jessica's sentence.

She glanced across the cubicle to Logan, her expression twisted with grief and guilt, "I've got to go to my family."

"He'd understand," the doctor reassured. "I've got to check in with Hank McCoy so I'll give you a few minutes alone."

"You're a dear, Cecelia. Thanks."

Standing over him, gently stroking his face and forehead, it frightened her how cold and lifeless he seemed. He'd not regained consciousness once. If anything, he seemed to be slipping further away by the hour. Leaning close, she murmured, "Hey tough guy. Don't know if you can hear me but I'm not gonna just up and disappear." Then she teased, "That's your gig. No, only kidding. You really did have a good excuse. Now I've got one. I've gotta go home. My Dad's had a heart attack." Tears formed in her eyes and her voice wavered. "This sucks, ya know? I'm so sorry to hafta leave. Two men who mean—a lot to me. I think—I could—love you; but you better hang in there. Give me the chance to find out." She wiped tears onto her sleeve and pressed a kiss on his forehead. "This is not a goodbye, you hear me?" She lingered by the door for a moment, fighting a smothering sense of doom. She didn't want to think about it fearing putting it out there might make it so; but her heart and instincts told her to prepare for the unthinkable.

She didn't quite remember the jaunt to Charles office but once there she found a stroke of luck. When her father's misfortune was revealed, Charles immediately offered use of his private jet.

"Professor, it's very kind of you, but I don't want to be any trouble."

"It's no trouble at all and if I may be truthful, I have an ulterior motive."

"Oh?"

"The plane's a Swearingen SJ30 . . ."

Jessica cocked her head in awe.

". . .and I am in need of a pilot."

"Bribing a lady in her moment of distress, for shame Professor Xavier."

"Your skills wouldn't be fully realized simply teaching martial arts; thus, I thought this might be just the carrot."

"In that case, I'll accept your kindness and after things settle with my father; I'll certainly give consideration to this."

"Splendid! Scott Summers will be pleased to escort you. I believe you need to fly into Dulles?"

Later, after Jessica had been loaned one of his vintage sports cars to drive to her apartment to prepare, Charles conferred with Scott.

"Why do you want me to fly Logan's," he almost said bimbo, "girlfriend to Washington? Assign Storm."

"Because I want your assessment of her. Preliminarily all her background checks out. I simply want to know if you think she'd get along here."

"As what? An instructor? A member of the Team?"

"For the moment, yes an instructor and to pilot the SJ. I'm undecided about the Team. Scott, in hindsight I believe it's important to consider how each team member interacts and as my Team Lead I value your opinion." Left unsaid was Charles' critical awareness that Scott needed his own diversion and a small change of scenery. Focusing on a prospective recruit, whether it panned out or not, he hoped would set him on a quicker path to recovery from Jean's death and buck up his flagging confidence.

Meanwhile, below ground, the situation remained unchanged; grim. Though Logan seemed to stop hemorrhaging, as evidenced by clear secretions from the nasogastric tube and urine collection receptacle, he remained critically ill. Dialysis seemed to do nothing; every lab they drew continued to show numbers that remained incompatible with life. He became more dependent on the respirator.

His neurological response to various stimuli indicated slow deterioration with each assessment.

Doctors Reyes and McTaggart were at their wits end, being physically and emotionally exhausted. They knew of little more that could be done, save for perhaps heart-lung bypass, but they doubted the efficacy of the draconian measure.

Doctor Henry McCoy's scheduled teleconference only served to cause more friction. Gathered in the cubicle, Charles, Moira and Cecelia observed him on a computer monitor. Hanks voice emanated clearly from the speakers attached to it. ". . .and so after exposing his blood samples to singular and multiple substances; I must very strongly recommend ceasing all interventions, save for basic life support."

Immediately Cecelia disputed the recommendation. "Hank, this can't possibly be correct. It contradicts everything I know about medicine," she decried.

Moira, having worked with Hank and witnessed many odd things when in came to Mutant medicine, was slightly less critical in expressing her doubts. "Hank, are ye truly certain of ye findings?"

"I'm as certain as can be with the short amount of time I've had. If you're asking about double-blind and other such controls; no. I'll be the first to admit my recommendations are based on theory. But taking into consideration how his healing factor reacted to the rigorous assault I subjected it to in my laboratory and the mounting evidence that current protocols appear futile; I strongly believe we have no other option."

"Sorry Hank, I simply can't accept that. He's nearly completely dependent on the vent. You've seen his labs; if I withdrawal treatment he'll be dead in less than an hour," Cecelia stated with conviction.

Slumping shoulders visible on the monitor and an audible sigh signaled his frustration. "I'm going to transmit my actual data. Time is of the essence doctors. I stand by my hypothesis and strongly believe what you're doing now _will_ kill Logan."

Several pages of data began spitting into the paper slot of the nearby printer. Charles, who'd remained silent through the briefing, gathered them and the women perused it over his shoulder. After a few minutes Charles rolled his shoulders and neck and then steepled his fingers to his forehead. "I must concur with Henry."

Cecelia Reyes snorted. Moira's face reflected skepticism.

". . .and this is my rationale," Charles continued."First, the data, while I admit is preliminary, appears scientifically sound. Next, data Jean collected supports Hank's postulations. Faced with physical evidence before me," he pointed at Logan, "it's quite feasible we're doing more harm than good." Charles was silent for a moment, allowing his words to be digested by his dissenters and to formulate his remaining considerations.

"I can't agree. I feel like we're missing something," Cecelia cautioned fervently. "A few hours of testing do not make for a sound basis for termination of accepted medical treatment. I, for one, cannot abide by withdrawal of treatment. It's criminal."

"Aye, I've reservations myself," Moira added. "I cannae deny that what were doing now does seem ineffectual but I'd feel better if yeh offered us something besides total withdrawal o' treatment. Tae me that spells certain death as well."

"If you don't make up your minds," Hank said with uncharacteristic antagonism in his tone, "it may be too late either way."

"So you're saying we're damned if we do and we're damned if we don't," Cecelia stated bitterly.

"Quite possibly," Hank answered.

"Well, I, for one, would rather be damned for _doing_ than not," Cecelia shot back.

"Doctors, I have a few more points to make," Charles interrupted. "We are faced with a problem that appears to have no distinct or palatable solution. The harsh reality we must face is that no matter what path we choose, it could be wrong. In light of this possibility, I must advocate for Logan's wishes. Based on what I know about the man and a conversation I had with him the other day, he would want us to withdrawal _all_ measures." Both women gasped at Charles' suggestion and he raised his hand to silence the volley that was gearing up. "Logan would want all measures withdrawn," he repeated. "I am not a supporter of euthanasia but I do believe in self-determination and patients' rights."

"Charles, he wasnae in his right mind."

"I disagree, Moira. Certain stimuli: trauma, pain, extreme stress, being prime examples; trigger feral behavior in Logan. It's a fight or flight reaction. Primitive, yes; but insane, no."

Moira nodded, understanding the explanation but she didn't mask the look of disagreement on her face.

"Therefore," Charles continued, "We_ will_ withdrawal all treatments, save for basic life support, as Henry recommended."

"_I'll_ not have anything to do with this," Cecelia shouted.

With verve Charles declared, "And_ I'll_ assume_ full responsibility_ for the outcome."

"And full responsibility for maintaining the basic life support;" Cecelia spat, "because I quit!" She flounced from the cubical and exited the med lab at a rapid clip.

A tense, silent moment passed before Moira moved closer to Charles. Putting a hand on his shoulder she delicately asked, "Dear friend, what if yer wrong?"

He shook his head wearily. The weight of the world seemed heavy on his shoulders. "Then at least I've honored the wishes of a man I've grown to have great respect for."

Working in tandem, Charles and Moira methodically, carefully discontinued dialysis. Gone was anything medicinal from IV therapy; replaced with simple electrolytes to maintain what they hoped was an optimal balance for hydration and metabolic functions.

Then at first opportunity Charles sought his disgruntled colleague. "Cecelia, it wasn't my intent to undermine you."

"You've got an odd way of expressing it."

"I apologize for my insensitivity toward you; but I will not apologize for advocating on Logan's behalf."

She shook her head in undisguised anger. "Advocating for a lunatic, Charles? I fully support rational choices when it comes to treatment protocols and as much as I loathe DNRs, I'll honor them, _if _I'm certain of rational intent behind them."

Charles shot back forcefully, "Despite all appearances, I can assure you Logan is lucid."

"I'm not convinced of that."

"Then perhaps we must agree to disagree, Doctor Reyes."

They stared each other down for more than a minute. Finally Charles spoke, "Cecelia, you're projecting your thoughts very clearly. I don't blame you for wanting to walk away but I ask you to remain. I need you."

"To do what? I can't sit by and do nothing while the life force slips away from that man. My job, my passion is to heal."

"You took an oath do no harm as well," he challenged.

Taking offence, she shot back, "Harm! Dammit Charles, I'm doing everything I know to keep him alive."

"And Hank has provided compelling evidence that it's wrong," Charles recapped.

"Henry's a brilliant doctor and researcher, one of the best; but he's in a lab. I'm here in the trenches.

I'm not convinced, Charles."

"What would convince you?"

Cecelia thought for a moment. "Is running more labs too invasive?" she queried acidly.

What sort?"

"He's been on dialysis long enough for a modicum of improvement; I'll just need to draw more blood. Three vials at most."

"I can't object to that and it would provide validation for me as well," Charles admitted.

Forty five minutes later Cecelia Reyes had an answer. Sorrowfully, she handed over the results. "There's no improvement." Defeat heavy in her voice, she yielded, "I'll stay on until we have-- a resolution."

All that remained was hour upon hour of vigilance with no one having a clue of what to expect. Taking four hour shifts, Cecelia, Moira and Charles continually adjusted IV and oxygen settings, kept suction and drainage lines clear and prayed for no further complications. Time flowed into a day and then another as Logan continued to deteriorate.

Late in the second day, Moira and Cecelia had finished up a thrice daily assessment of Logan's condition when Charles arrived to stand his watch. Cecelia nodded an impersonal but polite acknowledgement then exited quickly. The atmosphere between them remained tense.

Moira slumped, exhausted and bedraggled, in a nearby chair. "Nae good news this evening, Charles. Hank said tae wean him off the vent." She shook her head. "Well, he's gone completely dependent on it. I cannae detect any blood pressure and I turned the bloody sound off on the EKG. He kept tripping the alarm."

Charles glanced at the machine, noting only an intermittent flashing light. "Has he arrested?"

"Not exactly; though his heart's beating in a pattern, if you could call it that; like nothing I've seen. Quite honestly, I think if taken off the vent, his heart would fail in minutes."

Charles drooped his shoulders and sighed deeply. "I'm not certain what I expected my dear, but this isn't it."

Staring at him with somber regard, she intoned softly, "We did a neurological work up."

"And?" Charles glanced over at Logan, bracing himself for a prognosis that he didn't need to read her mind to know.

Moira reach for Charles hand. "With his adamantium skull, of course, we couldnae do a CT or MRI. The EEG was practically useless." Heartbreak etched on her weary face, she chose words thoughtfully, "We must consider the possibility of brain damage."

Hands steepled in front of his face, he glanced down and shook his head before returning scrutiny to her. Then, without a word, he wheeled to Logan's bedside. He placed his hands on either side of Logan's head and closed his eyes. After what seemed an interminable length of time, Charles articulated simply, "He's still with us."

Moira opened her mouth to speak; then closed it again and shook her head. She was always slightly in awe of Charles' telepathic abilities.

"It's as if he were in a state of," Charles groped for a concise descriptive, "suspended animation."

"Aye, that would explain a lot." She lapsed into thoughtful quietude. After a long moment she probed, "Do yeh think this is still the right way tae go?"

After an even longer moment, he replied "As long as I can reach his mind, yes."

"Have yeh thought what we'll do if his heart does stop?"

"We'll do what we must."

Moira wasn't happy with Charles open-ended response but exhaustion prevented her from engaging in further debate. She squeezed his shoulder gently as she exited. "I'm off for a wee nap."

Midway into the third day, Cecelia took her shift performing what had become routine. First, a comprehensive physical assessment followed by oral and corporeal hygiene to prevent infection. Changing out fluid collection receptacles and replacing nutritive fluids took its share of time. Most difficult of the regimen was repositioning his dead weight to prevent decubitus ulcers or bed sores and exhaustive physical therapy to prevent his muscles from stiffening and contracting. Then, through with the procedures, she took up position at the nearby computer terminal and poured over Hank's data, yet again, desperate to seek any overlooked clue that might be helpful to Logan.

Something caught her attention. The light on the cardiac monitor changed drastically. She stood, rubbed her eyes, trudged to the machine and pushed the reset button. Without a doubt, the beat-per-minute and tracing indicators showed an increase in heart rate. Moments later, the automatic blood pressure monitor registered something for the first time in over twenty four hours. Mystified, she gasped and grabbed the telephone to intercom Charles and then Moira.

Maggie, who'd been feeling somewhat overwhelmed by suffocating sadness blanketing the School and her own powerful ambivalence over the course of action or lack of it, had been keeping a low profile. Sensing a sudden upturn in positive feelings, she made haste toward the source. It became a minor traffic jam with Charles, Moira and she converging at the elevator leading to the med-lab.

In the few moments it took them to emerge on the lower level, Logan's heart rate, blood pressure and respirations had continued to increase exponentially. Instead of barely perceptible vitals, they were now impossibly off the scale in the opposite direction! His pallor had transformed from pale, death-gray to flushed. Charles placed his hands on either side of his head. This time he was struck by heat radiating from him as opposed to corpse-like chill. He took a pen light from Cecelia and pried open Logan's eyelid. Absent was the black, dilated and nearly fixed pupil; replaced this time with a pinpoint that reacted unnaturally quickly to concentrated light. Touching Logan's mind with his, Charles was mildly disappointed but not surprised to find him still deep within himself. Clasping his hands together, a look of cautious optimism written on his face, Charles declared, "I believe the corner has been turned."

The two doctors acted skeptical, with Cecelia raising the first contradictory comment. "What are you saying? He's a fever of one hundred and eight; his vital signs are in--in hyperspace, if you'll excuse my expression. If this is turning a corner, I'm going back to medical school."

"Charles," Moira added with more diplomacy, "seems tae me he's exhibiting signs of massive infection."

Struggling against an urge to vette his frustrations over the doctor's doubts, Charles inhaled deeply, steepled his hands to his forehead and thought carefully before replying, "No, what we're seeing is exactly what Hank theorized. If you don't believe me, run some labs. Compare your findings to Hank's data." He wheeled over to the computer terminal and clicked the mouse. "Here, right here! Read Jean Gray's notes. This is precisely what happened as Logan recovered from his injuries at Liberty Island."

As they read over Charles shoulder, Maggie, who'd stayed by Logan's side, sounded an alarm. "Something's not right! Look at the tubing coming from his chest!"

Something, some mysterious force, appeared to be pushing the tube out. Equally extraordinary was a notable absence of infectious-looking goo flowing from the tube into the collection receptacle.

"His healing factor's rejecting the thoracotomy," Moira asked in a voice that was both question and statement.

"Respirations are out-pacing the vent!" Cecelia added, in complete disbelief.

Quickly, they set to work removing the chest tube and ventilator. Optimism tempered when the wounds failed to close and heal. There was a moment or two of uncertainty how to proceed before it was decided sutures were contraindicated. He'd most likely reject them. Instead, they closed the sites with Steri-strips; small pieces of surgical tape, and placed gauze over top.

Over the next several hours, the entire medical team, including Hank, observing remotely over video monitor, was awe struck as a miracle seemed to unfold. Logan's vital signs remained impossibly elevated making Cecelia anxious. She warned more than once, despite Jean's earlier notations, the likelihood of stroke.

His kidneys began to function evidenced by rapid and frequent filling of the urine collection bag suspended from the side of the bed and precipitous reduction in abdominal swelling. Though his wounds didn't completely heal, improvement was noticeable; as was the fading bruising that had marred his normally unsullied epidermis.

Time passed. Progress seemed to reach a peak and then, just as mysteriously, his inhumanly amplified vitals moderated. Though still high for most, they reverted back to slightly higher than his normal range. Logan exhibited signs of neurological reawakening. Reactive pupils had been one of the first indications followed by much better muscle tone, motor and reflexive responses. Every twitch, moan and sigh from him commanded rapt attention and increasing optimism could almost be physically felt between the medical team.

Diluting the optimism, Charles sensed an unusual shift in the dark, unreflective mirror of feral surface thoughts that enabled Logan to slip off the psychic radar even when comatose. Subtle at first, constituting a faint mental buzz at the extreme range of his perception, Charles monitored the situation, growing alarmed when the buzzing erupted into an intense and deeply unpleasant white noise. Did this presage another convulsion, relapse? _Please forgive my intrusion, Logan but it is imperative I endeavor to understand this strange neural disturbance._

Aware that Logan's mindscape was a dangerous place to investigate, Charles nevertheless took up position at the head of the bed and cradled Logan's cranium in his hands as a prelude to psychic contact. Probing the barrier of primal instincts normally had the same impact as using a pencil to write on water; unless Logan was receptive to the telepathic link it didn't happen.

Expecting failure, Charles was shocked to discover a boiling ocean of Stygian shadows and horror. Nightmare images, red as blood and shot through with black and deep purple, burst like bubbles allowing Xavier fleeting glimpses of mental Bedlam. A maelstrom of jumbled, barely discernible scenes depicting what Charles believed to be the final moments before Logan's initial seizure, assaulted his inner sense. Flashes of gore, claws, monstrous darts and a grotesque faceless entity shrouded in black burst forth and as quickly sank back into the seething mess.

The white noise changed in pitch and volume. No longer an indiscriminate din, it expanded into an anguished howl; the sound of a soul in the throes of immutable despair. Terror; agony; appall; loss; fury; isolation. All of these terrible emotions conveyed in an unending mental scream. Dear God, had they unwittingly unleashed a new torment upon Logan's traumatized psyche? Unable to endure Logan's suffering Charles took the unprecedented step of psychic intervention, short circuiting the mental turmoil before withdrawing, his face grim and pale.

"Charles? Yeh look like yeh've seen a ghost. Is there something wrong wi' the laddie?"

"Logan's neural activity is well within the parameters I have come to associate as normal for him," he reassured Moira. He looked at his one time lover and closest friend. Already crushed beneath the burden of what she and Cecilia had inadvertently inflicted on Logan, he was not going to add to her misery.

"Can we expect him tae awaken soon?"

Shaking his head, he replied, "I do not know." Massaging his sweat dampened forehead to try and alleviate the dull nagging ache that had started up, he continued, "We will just have to persevere until Logan makes the choice to return to us."

_To discover Logan's choice read the final chapter of A Force of Nature, by Rhiannon UK._


End file.
